


Know Thyself

by MycroftexMachina



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-02
Updated: 2017-07-02
Packaged: 2018-11-22 13:08:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11380821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MycroftexMachina/pseuds/MycroftexMachina
Summary: Mitch breaks up with his girlfriend of two years on a Tuesday.





	Know Thyself

**I.**

 

Mitch breaks up with his girlfriend of two years on a Tuesday. Afterwards, he locks himself into the apartment he finally got around renting by _himself_ , pulls out a six-pack of cheap Canadian beer and proceeds to systematically get drunk. It’s a nasty business, but someone’s gotta do it. Might as well be him.

 

On his way through his fifth beer, it occurs to Mitch that he should’ve bough something more effective if he really wanted to get plastered. Sure, his alcohol tolerance is not particularly high and the beers are giving him a buzz. Still, it’s taking him way too long, and he just wants to _stop_ _thinking_. He’s been thinking way too much since hockey stopped back in May, and he just wants it to stop.

 

Getting up and getting out to buy tequila or some other equally deadly liquor is too hard, however. So Mitch resolves to stay put, finish his beers and then go the fuck to sleep, even if, according to the clock on his entertainment system, it’s only six in the afternoon. Whatever. It’s not like he’s got anything better to do. Stromer is in Arizona, Davo is away with his family, Law is vacationing with his girlfriend and most of his teammates are not in Toronto. Mitch should not be in Toronto. He should be somewhere else, having fun, with his girlfriend of two years he just broke up with because he’s a fucking idiot who doesn't know what the hell he’s doing.

 

Once the beers are gone, Mitch decides it’s too early to sleep and devises a second part of this pity party he’s throwing for himself. He goes to the kitchen and pulls out the ice cream he’d bought in preparation for a day like today, where everything sucks and he just wants to curl up in a little ball and die.

 

Alcohol and chocolate chip: the surest remedy to heal a broken heart—or so the wisest of his advisors, good old Google, claims. Mitch doesn't have much experience with heartbreak, so he’s going to have to trust that this shit’s helpful. Maybe he should call Stromer anyway. Not that Stromer is very experienced in this part of adult life—he is more of a “fuck ‘em and leave ‘em” kind of guy. But he’s definitely worldlier than Mitch.

 

The ice cream helps to the extent that ice cream is awesome and cheating on a diet is even more awesome, so Mitch is getting two different types of rushes. Afterwards, however, once he’s left staring at six empty bottles and two containers of ice cream which look like they’ve mauled by wolves, Mitch feels slightly nauseous, and it has very little to do with the crap he just put in his body. It probably didn't help, but it’s not the cause of this malaise he’s been experiencing for the past seven months. Eight months. One year. However long this thing’s been going on. Mitch is not quite sure about the timeline, he was busy playing hockey and being exhausted.

 

Deciding to leave the cleaning up to tomorrow, like the responsible young adult he is, Mitch drags himself to his bedroom, which he chose specifically because it’s the brightest room in the apartment. At some point in one of his many late night Wikipedia spirals of doom, he learned that he’s a Taurus—whatever that comes from—and that Tauruses (Tauri? Mitch wasn't really paying attention in English) love natural light, food and sex. Since, as far as he’s concerned, that’s a remarkably accurate description, he figured benefitting from the sun in the room he spends a lot of time relaxing was a win-win situation.

 

It’s not sunny, today. The skies are overcast, and the rain that fell during the morning, while Mitch was out breaking up with his girlfriend of two fucking years—what the hell is he doing, for fuck’s sake—has lowered the temperature, although not significantly.

 

His ex didn't cry, which made Mitch feel even more awful than he already does. She told him she’d seen it coming, that everything was going to be fine, and that Mitch needn’t worry about a thing, because that’s who she is, kind to a fault. Mitch wanted to throw up there and then.

 

The bed is not particularly inviting, because Mitch is a slob when it comes to his bedroom, and he needs to change the sheets. It’ll do for tonight. If he’s going to throw up, and that is still up in the air, he might as well do it on dirty sheets rather than clean ones.

 

Mitch lies down after changing out of his nice shirt and jeans and into a t-shirt and shorts. He loves his bed; it’s one of the best purchases he made since he got money to spend. It’s huge and firm and the pillows his mom selected are super-comfy. It’d be a shame to throw up all over them, so Mitch gets up and rearrange them so that he can lean up a bit. It’d also be unfortunate if he were to choke on his vomit.

 

Once he’s as comfortable as he can be, Mitch grabs his phone from where he dropped it on his nightstand and looks through his messages. There are some silly chirps from his friends, a text from his mom about a family dinner and one from Chris about grabbing lunch. Mitch hasn't told them what he was planning to do, and he’s not looking forward to explaining that to his family. He loves them to death and he knows they’d understand and offer to help, but this is something he needs to figure out on his own. He’ll let them know tomorrow, just to avoid awkward situations.

 

Instagram is the pits of hell. For all that it helps Mitch keeping up with the fun stuff Davo and Law and Marty have been up to, it also brings to the fore some unpleasant realities Mitch isn’t quite ready to deal with. People are for the most part away with their family, friends or girlfriends, unless they’re not attending prospect camp, like Stromer is. Mitch knows firsthand that the photos selected for Instagram do not reflect a real state of affair, but a distorted reality projected for the benefit of the masses and to show everyone that your life is wonderful. He’s mastered this art perfectly well, so he can see it clearly in his friends’ post.

 

Yet, not everything is fake. And in his alcohol-and-sugar-induced haze, Mitch is unable to stay away from the photo most likely to cause him even more pain that he’s already in. And there they are, two people lying on a chair, a pool in the background. Both beautiful, both tan, both dark haired, they seem not to have a care in the world. They look so happy together, like they can’t believe they finally get to be in each other’s presence.

 

The photo is recent, but not from today. Mitch has seen it before, a few days ago, and it had made him feel as sick then as it does right now. The only difference is that, today, the pain is expected. When he’d first seen the picture, he’d been simply been goofing around on his phone while waiting to go out for dinner with his ex-girlfriend and their friends. He’d come across the photo by chance and it had taken him a few second to parse it, because there is a difference between knowing things and _knowing things_. Once he’d digested all the details of the image, as well as what they meant, Mitch had felt a lump in his throat so big he hadn’t known what to do about it. His eyes had filled with tears—and he hadn’t cried when he’d been sent back to London last year, or when he’d been smashed into the boards by Jenner. The tears had spilled over, leaving Mitch astounded and completely unable to cope with this wave of feelings ebbing and flowing within his soul, appearing out of nowhere like a ghost ship, ready to steal all his sanity.

 

Now there are no tears, because Mitch has gotten used to it—the photo, the feelings it evokes, the sense of hopelessness he is filled with every time he thinks about it. About them. About _him_.

 

Mitch should have seen this coming. He should have realized it the second they’d met at prospect camp; the moment he’d smashed one of the glass panel off Mitch’s pass; the day they’d started driving to practice together; the first time they’d coordinated their outfits; the first time they’d decided to stop and chat with the door guys about everything and nothing; when they’d sung on the bench and when they’d decided to team up at COD because Mitch is awesome at it and he can win even with someone who doesn't know how to play.

 

Mitch should have seen it coming, because this is not the first time that a crush he has on someone’s hockey develops into something more. Mitch has an uncanny predisposition to fall in love with people who play beautiful hockey—gender be damned. He could write a book about it, with a chapter for each time it’d occurred—though, admittedly, before he got to juniors these crushes were totally harmless.

 

Mitch should have seen it coming, because he’d seen it coming with Dylan Strome. He’d seen coming in 2013, when they’d still been at each other’s throat. He’d seen it coming in 2014, when they’d played together on Team Canada. He’d seen it arrived at its destination in 2015, with the combine and the draft. Mitch had never for one second considered doing _anything_ about it, because Stromer is straight—at the most he’s Davo’s, and the jury is still out on that. Then he’d met his ex and that’d been that.

 

So, yes, Mitch should have seen it coming, because it had happened before, but this time is worse. Mitch has never played with Stromer except for when they played for Canada. The fact that they weren’t spending all their time together helped Mitch keep a lid on his infatuation, and distance had done the rest.

 

It’s different, this time. Not only are Mitch’s feelings more nuanced, less “I-am-a-sixteen-years-old-boy-with-needs” and more “I-am-an-adult-with-complex-emotions”. They are also more difficult to contain, because, at the end of the day, Mitch knows he’ll see him tomorrow. At the end on the season, Mitch knows he’ll see him in September. Day after day after day, until one or both of them get traded. And Mitch doesn't want anyone to get traded, thank you very much.

 

So there’s no escape, and Mitch has known at least since shortly after bye-week, when being away with his friends and girlfriend hadn’t helped filled the gap in his soul.

 

Marty picked up on that, because Marty is a dad in training and Mitch’s is his favorite. Yet, like the awesome person he is, he didn't prod and let Mitch work through his shit, which resulted in Mitch being without a girlfriend—because he cannot date one person when he wants to be with another one—and staring at the phone like a fucking Victorian heroine would at her beloved’s miniature—not that he knows much about Victorian societal behaviors.

 

The photo has comments and likes, some from people Mitch knows and many from ones he doesn't, because much of their life happens in Toronto, where Mitch’s family is, where Mitch’s friend are, and not in Arizona, where Mitch has only gone to play, but not to hang out.

 

And Mitch knew that Auston Matthews had a girl back home. Despite all the hooking up he had done during the regular season, Auston had mentioned her a few times, someone who doesn't give him grief, someone whom he likes but who’s happy with something low-key until they figure themselves out.

 

Well; it looks to Mitch like they figured themselves out alright.

 

**II.**

Morning doesn't bring solace, but then, Mitch wasn't really expecting it. He’s just thankful that he hasn't gotten a hangover and that the only side effect of his night of excesses is a mild headache he washes away with coffee and some food.

 

He decides to bite the bullet and sends a text to his parents and his brother, explaining about his new single status. When his mom calls him three minutes after he sends the text, Mitch answers, because _it’s his_ _mom._ She’s very sympathetic, even after Mitch explains he was the one doing the breaking up—he doesn't like to lie to his mom, and there are so many things about him she already doesn't know.

 

Chris sends him a text, which is par for the course for the two of them.

 

_Do u need to talk, bro?_

_Not now, not ever_ , is Mitch’s response. Things are messed up enough without going into details about why he broke it off when all was seemingly going great.

 

After having updated his family, Mitch decides to put some hours into training, something he’d neglected yesterday, what with all the drama. He goes to the Leafs complex and manages not only a good workout but also some ice time, which makes him feel a bit better.

 

When he gets out of the shower, there are twenty new messages on his phone. Apparently Chris spilled the beans with some of Mitch’s friends in an attempt to figure out what’s going on, and now everyone wants to know what’s going on, because no one actually knows what’s going on.

 

Mitch sends off some quick replies, especially to friends he shares with his ex. The last thing he wants is to make anyone uncomfortable or feel like they have to pick sides. Luckily, Chris’ meddling only extends so far, because none of his Leafs friends is any wiser as to Mitch’s new relationship status—frankly, it’s really nobody’s business.

 

Stromer and Davo, however, are in a category by themselves. Sometimes Mitch cannot believe that the three of them are still so close, even two full years after the draft. He’d thought theirs was a friendship that’d be sacrificed to the altar of the hockey gods. Instead, it has survived, thanks in no small part to Stromer’s insistence they keep in touch.

 

Mitch doesn't mind in the slightest. But on days like this, it means that Davo is texting him while he’s on vacation and Stromer is calling him from prospect camp—yep, the dick did call after all.

 

Mitch can handle Connor McDavid just fine—the dude is a teddy bear who plays like a demon. If you tell him to leave you alone, he’ll do it. And Mitch has always had enough self-confidence when it comes to his hockey never to have fallen into the McJesus’ trap. Plus Stromer was right: Davo’s feet stink to high heavens, and that kind of stuff cures you of the romance and the myth about a person very quickly.

 

Stromer is completely different, however. He still hasn't met a matter he’s not going to want to stick his nose in, and Mitch’s personal life is one of his favorite hobbies. He’s not mean or unkind; he just wants to know everything—it’s Stromer’s weird way to show he cares, Mitch supposes.

 

So a quick text takes care of Davo, especially once Mitch promises to go over once Davo’s back in the GTA. But Stromer’s not content with a text, because he calls again as soon as Mitch is done sending his, _Im fine, its no big deal._

Because ignoring Dylan Strome has never been the wisest strategy, Mitch picks up the phone on his way to his car.

 

“Jesus, I said I was fine,” he says as soon as the line connects.

 

“Bullshit,” Stromer retorts. “You haven’t been fine since before Christmas. What the fuck is going on, Marns?”

 

Mitch is left speechless for a moment, because he often forgets that, of the three of them, Dylan is the most insightful.

 

“Shouldn't you be training or something?” Mitch deflects.

 

“We have a lunch break, and I am done eating. Now spill,” Dylan says.

 

“It’s really fine, Dyls,” Mitch says, because it’s technically the truth. If Mitch feels like his insides are being ripped apart, it has nothing to do with breaking up with his girlfriend.

 

“Not to rub salt in the wound or whatever fucking saying is appropriate here, Marns, but you just dumped your girlfriend of two years.”

 

Mitch winces at the use of the word ‘dump’. He hates it when people do that, because it makes it sound like persons are garbage, and that’s an awful idea.

 

“Stromer,” he says and the steel in his voice gets through.

 

“Sorry, okay, crappy word choice, I know you hate that. Care to fill me in, though?”

 

“Not really,” Mitch answers truthfully. He does not want to talk about it.

 

“Marns, it’s no good to keep things bottled up, you know that,” Stromer says.

 

“Pot, kettle,” Mitch replies, because Stromer came back from Arizona in late November and didn't talk to either Mitch or Davo for a month before the two of them forced him to accept the fact that they still loved him and that the fault was the Coyotes’ and not Dylan’s. There isn’t much a player can do if he’s not given the support and the opportunity to do it.

 

“That’s why I am here now, Marns, and not in a month,” Stromer says. “It sucked, the black spiral which I was in at the end of last year. I should have talked to people sooner, especially you and Davo and Ryan. Don't make the same mistakes I made.”

 

“It’s not exactly the same problem, Dyls,” Mitch comments.

 

Stromer snorts. “No shit? I hadn’t figured that out. Now spill.”

 

“I am getting in the car,” Mitch says, because he’s reached his vehicle while chatting with Dylan.

 

“You have Bluetooth, so don't even go there. I have one hour to be your agony aunt,” Stromer smirks.

 

“Agony aunt?” Mitch asks incredulous, because he knows what an agony aunt is, but that’s just because he has older female relatives. Stromer uses the term like he actually _writes_ advice columns.

 

“I have hidden depths,” Stromer defends himself, and Mitch really, really, really doesn't want to know.

 

“Dyls …” he whines in a last ditch effort to get Stromer off his back.

 

“If you don't tell me what the fuck is going on, I’m gonna call Matthews and tell him you’re pining away in Toronto. You don't want me to ruin his well-earned vacation in this god-forsaken desert, do you?”

 

Mitch’s breath hitches, because Stromer _doesn't know shit_ , but he’s friendly with Matts because of the whole ‘Toronto boy in Arizona – Arizona boy in Toronto’ thing, so Mitch doesn't put it past him to actually follow through with the threat.

 

Something in his voice must give Mitch away, because Stromer is silent for a long time.

 

Then he says, “Dude,” making the u so long it’s, like, three words instead of one.

 

“Don't even think about it,” Mitch says sternly.

 

“You have no idea what I am thinking about,” Stromer defends himself.

 

“I know you. You _do_ _not_ call Matts about this,” Mitch says, and now he’s not stern, he’s as cold as the ice he skates on so skillfully.

 

“Okay, fine,” Stromer sort of promises, “but what the fuck, Mitch?”

 

“I don't want to talk about it,” Mitch says, because Stromer might have deduced something, but as long as Mitch doesn't confirm it, he’s in the dark as much as anyone else.

 

“Mitch,” Stromer says a bit more gently. “Mitch, I am not sure I understand what the hell is happening there, but you’ve got to tell someone. If it’s not me, I don't know …”

 

“If it’s not you, who the hell am I going to tell?” Mitch blurts out, like the idiot he is.

 

Stromer is silent again, which isn’t particularly surprising, since Mitch is the talkative in this relationship—in all his relationships, to be fair.

 

“That was kind of my point when I called,” Stromer says. “I know you’re not going to talk to Chris about it.”

 

“He knows my ex; I don't want to drag him into this,” Mitch explains.

 

“He’s your brother, not hers,” Stromer reasons.

 

“But it’s my fault, not hers,” Mitch retorts.

 

“Mitch,” Stromer says, and this time he sounds like he’s trying to tame some wild beast. “Mitchy, buddy. It’s nobody’s fault. You know that, right?”

 

And right then and there, in the middle of a fucking parking lot in overcast Toronto, Mitch begins to sob his heart out with one of his closest friend on the other side of the continent.

 

“Jesus Christ, Mitchy,” Stromer says, and Mitch can tell he’s scared now, because Mitch _doesn't fucking cry._

 

“Mitchy,” Stromer repeats, but Mitch continues to sob hysterically, the head on the hood of his car, his phone clutched desperately in his right hand.

 

“Mitch, you’ve got to calm down a bit,” Stromer says coaxingly, “just a tiny bit, because I am in fucking Glendale, Arizona, and I’m not getting back until next Monday.”

 

Mitch doesn't stop, but he’s a bit quieter now, since he really doesn't want to freak Stromer out completely.

 

“I’m sorry, Dyls,” he says. Stromer needs to be focused on playing hockey right now, and not on picking up the pieces of Mitch’s broken heart.

 

“Don't you even …” Stromer begins. “Mitch, you are one of my best friends. Don't ever apologize for something like this ever again.”

 

“But…”

 

“No fucking but, Mitch. I am a big boy. I can handle more than one thing at once. And this is not my first rodeo. I’ve done it before, and they’ve seen me before. It’s fine.”

 

“Okay,” Mitch says sniffling, the tears still streaming down his cheeks. “Okay.”

 

“Okay,” Stromer repeats, taking a deep breath. “Now, I want you to get into the car and connect the fucking phone to your Bluetooth. Then you’re gonna calm down for like five minutes and then you’re telling me everything I want to know.”

 

Mitch is kind of drained at this point. He’s just finished an intense workout and he’s starving—no wasting away for him, thank fuck. He cannot afford to lose even one pound.

 

“How about I grab something to eat, take a nap and then call you back tonight?” he negotiates.

 

“My time or your time?” Dylan asks.

 

“Oh, shit,” Mitch says, “I forgot about the time difference.”

 

“You always do. What time?”

 

“I’ve got nothing on. Whenever,” Mitch says.

 

“Okay, I will call you as soon as I’m done for the day. You can stay up and sleep in tomorrow.”

 

Mitch rolls his eyes, because Stromer is a pain in the ass.

 

“Fine,” he says faux-put-upon. “I will eagerly wait your call.” He’s calmer now than he was a few minutes ago, and he’s stopped crying.

 

“You good enough to drive?” Stromer asks concerned.

 

“I think so,” Mitch answers honestly. “I’ll just wait for another couple of minutes.”

 

“Good,” Stromer says. “I can tell you all about prospect camp.”

 

And for the next twenty minutes, he proceeds to do exactly that.

**III.**

“So let me get this straight,” Stromer says from his bed in the hotel the Coyotes put all the prospects up. “You decided to break up with your girl because you felt like you were cheating on her because you’ve fallen in love with someone else.”

 

Mitch, who is sitting on his sectional, his phone in his right hand to better see Stromer, nods.

 

“And the someone else you’ve fallen in love with is none other than Scottsdale resident hero and savior of Leafs Hockey, Auston Fucking Matthews.”

 

“I’m pretty sure Fucking is not his middle name,” Mitch objects.

 

“From what I heard you saying all throughout the season, it might as well be,” Stromer comments raising his eyebrows.

 

Mitch doesn't blush, because he’s immune to Stromer’s innuendos, but it’s a close call.

 

“Whatever,” he says. Dylan is right. While he wasn't destroying as many rookie records as he possibly could, Auston was out there fucking as many girls as he possibly could.

 

“I’m going out on a limb, here, and assume he doesn't know about this,” Stromer says astutely.

 

“Good guess,” Mitch says.

 

“And I’m also going to assume you have no intention to tell him any time soon,” Stromer adds, like the perceptive dude he is.

 

“Two for two.”

 

“Mmm,” Stromer pauses. “How exactly are you planning to deal with this, then?”

 

“What do you mean?” Mitch asks.

 

“Well, you are not going to tell Matts, and Matts doesn't know. You’ve felt like this for a while now…”

 

“Since January for sure,” Mitch explains.

 

Stromer whistles in surprise. “Wow,” he says. “You are actually fucking pining.”

 

“It’s not funny, Dyls.”

 

“I am not saying it is,” Stromer says raising his hands. “I am just stating a fact.”

 

“Still not funny,” Mitch retorts.

 

“Okay, okay. But if you’re going to do anything about it, how are you planning to get over it?” Stromer asks.

 

Mitch nods with a sad smile. “Now you do see my problem.”

 

Stromer’s eyes go wide; then he says, “You need to talk to him, Marns. If this is how you feel now, I don't even want to imagine how you’re going to be doing come next December.”

 

“I am going to be fine,” Mitch states. “I’m going to keep my distance and all these … feelings are going to go away. At some point. Soon.”

 

“I mean, it’s possible,” Stromer concurs, “but, like, I think distance is supposed to help, not close proximity.”

 

“I am not requesting a trade,” Mitch huffs offended.

 

“I sure as hell hope so. You’re the only one of us who’s playing for the Leafs. Davo and I are living through you vicariously. You are not allowed to get yourself trade to the fucking Stars or whatever.”

 

Mitch rolls his eyes. “Any other helpful comment?”

 

“Not really,” Stromer admits. “You know this is not my strong suit, right? I mean, I don't do relationships very well.”

 

“You do relationships just fine,” Mitch says. “You just don't do sex and relationships at the same time.”

 

“Possibly,” Stromer concedes. “Still, I don't think your solution is feasible. I never heard you like earlier today, Mitch. You scared the shit out of me.”

 

“I’m sorry,” Mitch mumbles, because he knows Dylan is not rebuking him, but he still feels like he has to say it.

 

“It’s fine, really,” Stromer waves his hand dismissively. “I just didn't know what to do. And it’s not going to go away until you face it.”

 

“Telling Matts is not an option, Dyls,” Mitch repeats stubbornly.

 

“Are you sure?” Stromer asks. “Because, like, the dude never looked like a homophobe to me.”

 

“I’ve only ever seen him picking up girls,” Mitch explains.

 

“That doesn't mean anything, Mitch, don't have me draw you a diagram.”

 

“Your diagrams suck,” Mitch comments.

 

“My diagrams are awesome,” Stromer says offended.

 

“The last diagram you drew was supposedly a representation of the solar system. You had the planets orbiting around Earth, Dylan.”

 

“Earth, the Sun. What does it matter? I’m not going to teach astronomy,” Stromer sulks.

 

“It’s grade-school knowledge Dyls. Your Moon was bigger than Jupiter.”

 

“The Moon is bigger than Jupiter if you look at the sky,” Dylan objects. And how can Mitch reason with such solid Stromer-logic?

 

“I still don't need a diagram,” Mitch says.

 

“Okay, fine,” Stromer sighs. “But I would honestly be surprised if you’d seen him picking up guys. I mean, he’s too visible up there.”

 

Mitch doesn't say anything since he has no real answer. It’s not like he hasn't thought about Matts’ sexuality. But there is nothing, absolutely nothing, to make him think that Auston Matthews might be anything other than completely heterosexual. And that’s beside the point anyway, since Matts has now a girlfriend.

 

“He does?” Stromer asks surprised, and Mitch explains the situation with the photo.

 

“Are you sure they’re dating and not just hanging out?”

 

“I haven’t asked,” Mitch says, because he’s not touching that even with a ten-foot pole.

 

Stromer disappears from view, and it doesn't take long for Mitch to realize he’s checking Auston’s various social media accounts from his phone. Mitch doesn't understand why he can’t do that from the computer he’s using to call him.

 

“Okay, I see why you’re unsure,” Stromer comments after a few moments. “Still, it’s really worth asking.”

 

“Dylan, I never once brought up any of Matts’ girls. Like, it’s just not something we talked about. He never even met my ex.”

 

“Really?” Stromer asks, and Mitch doesn't get it. Why would he want to do that to himself?

 

“Really,” he says ironically.

 

“Okay, you’re right,” Stromer acknowledges. “I’ll do it.”

 

“What?” Mitch asks. “What? No, what the fuck? Don't do that.”

 

“Why not?” Stromer says, still out of view and clearly doing something with his phone. “It’s totally something I would ask. Come on, we talked about Toronto girls vs. Arizona girls.”

 

“Please tell me you didn't,” Mitch says.

 

“We totally did,” Stromer confirms unrepentant.

 

“I’m telling Davo. He’s going to deck you,” Mitch threatens.

 

“Davo asked Taylor Hall about Edmonton girls,” Stromer says.

 

“I don't believe that for one second.”

 

“Okay, fine. _I_ asked Taylor Hall about Edmonton girls. For Davo.”

 

“Bullshit. You asked for yourself,” Mitch accuses him.

 

“I did ask for Davo, actually. You know how he gets when he needs to get laid,” Stromer maintains.

 

“Actually, I don't,” Mitch responds, “and I am really thankful for that.”

 

“You should be. Anyway, Davo didn't want the info, because he was dating some girl or other. So there.”

 

Mitch shakes his head; then he returns to the topic at hand.

 

“Do not ask Matts about it, though. I don't think it’s going to help in any way.”

 

“Mitch, I’ve already asked,” Stromer says, finally returning in the camera’s field of vision.

 

“Look at the bright side. If she’s his girlfriend, then you can move on. If she isn’t, then we can come up with a plan of attack.”

 

“A plan of attack?” Mitch asks, ready to start crying again, because when he called Dylan he wasn't really expecting this.

 

“Yep,” Dylan says.

 

“We?”

 

“Yep.”

 

“Stromer,” Mitch says patiently. “I love you. You know I do. But neither of us has the slightest clue of how to go about getting a man.”

 

“It’s not going to be particularly different from getting a woman,” Stromer dismisses Mitch easily.

 

Mitch groans. “I think I just heard half of the human race vehemently disagreeing with you.”

 

“Nonsense. People are people, Mitchy. Men, women, and any variation thereof.”

 

Mitch mouths ‘variation thereof’ back at Stromer and then shakes his head. If things go south he’s calling Davo in for an assist. The mouthing back turns into a yawn and Stromer laughs.

 

“Go to sleep, Mitchy. I will let you know what I find out. Oh, and I’ll fill Davo in.”

 

“Oh good lord. Can we not?” Mitch begs, because he really wants to keep this on a need-to-know basis, and the only person who really needs to know is Mitch himself.

 

“I mean, we can,” Stromer says reluctantly. “But if he finds out later that I knew and he didn't, he’s gonna be so mad he’s going to stop talking to us for like a month.”

 

“Good point,” Mitch admits. “Fine, tell him. But that’s it, Dyls. This can’t go any further. No Matty or Ryan or whoever is Connor’s bestie right now.”

 

“I am Connor’s bestie,” Stromer says visibly offended. “But I will tell Davo not to talk to Draisaitl and his other buddies up in Edmonton about it.”

 

“Okay, thanks.”

 

“You don't want to fill Law or Marty in?”

 

“Nope,” Mitch says without hesitation.

 

“Okay,” Stromer says. “I’ll text when I hear from Matts. Sleep well, Marns.”

 

“Thanks Dyls,” Mitch says. “Knock them dead and I’ll see you when you’re back in town.”

 

Stromer sends him stupid kisses and hangs up.

 

Mitch decides to go to bed, because it’s almost midnight and it’s been a long day. After getting ready in the bathroom, he does a run through the apartment to ensure door and windows are locked and then returns to his bedroom. There’s a new message on his phone.

 

_Just an ‘old friend’ from home, nothing serious. Ready to plan a campaign?_

 

**IV.**

 

Mitch sleeps soundly—more out of exhaustion than because Stromer’s message reassured him. Dylan had sent Mitch a screenshot of his exchange with Matts—they do talk about girls after all, although they are remarkably restrained for guys their age.

 

Mitch isn’t so sure Matts is necessarily telling the truth, as he’s notoriously very reserved about his private life. Also, as friendly as he is with Stromer, the two of them are not as close as, say, Matts and Willy are. Still, Matts knows Stromer’s close with Mitch, so there is no reason to tell him a lie that could be easily found out.

 

And yet. And yet Mitch cannot bring himself to thinking there might be a chance. He’s not sure he wants to spend time and energies in figuring out if: 1. Auston Matthews might not be completely straight; 2. Auston Matthews might be even remotely interested in a relationship with Mitch; 3. What are Auston Matthews’ views about committed relationships—because Matts and Dyls might be able to do casual like it’s going out of style, but that’s not Mitch at all.

 

Stromer is quiet for the next few days despite the end of prospect camp. It’s not entirely clear what he’s up to, but Mitch isn’t worried since he gets the occasional update and reassurance.

 

On the other hand, Davo has decided to fucking _fret_. All of a sudden, it feels to Mitch like he’s in constant company of Mo and Gards, who notoriously behave like mother hens around the rookies. Davo calls every day just to say hi; he sends cute pictures of kittens and puppies—and otters, because it’s Davo. He emails links to funny videos and to articles praising Mitch’s hockey—training camp, lesson 1: do not Google yourself. Lesson 2: do not read your own press. Mitch is good at following those kinds of instructions. It’s all very sweet, if a bit unnerving. Davo does friendship with the same focus he plays hockey. It can be pretty exhausting. Thankfully, he doesn't ask questions Mitch has already given Stromer an answer too. Mitch would rather limit the amount of times he bursts in tears to once every few years, if at all possible.

 

By the time Monday rolls around, things are better. Mitch has seen his family and explained things a bit—without mentioning the fact that there is someone he’s interested in. He’s texted a couple of times with his ex, who is actually doing fine, or so she says. He’s also made some tentative plans to go to a waterpark at the end of the month with some of his non-hockey friends. Now, he’s just waiting for Stromer to let him know he’s back in town so that they can get together. There’s going to be another tournament pretty soon, but if Stromer is serious about this campaign thing, and Mitch hopes he isn’t, the last thing Mitch wants to do is have a conversation about it while there are loads of hockey players in close proximity, ready to overhear everything.

 

Stromer texts around six in the evening.

 

_On my way to ur place, staying a few days. Davo’s coming tomorrow._

_I didnt know Id invited anyone_ , Mitch responds, because what the fuck.

 

_Do u need me to pick up food?_ Dylan asks, like doing that would show he’s considerate. Mitch gives up on trying to keep him away.

_No, my mom loaded me with leftovers. Were fine for 2nite._

It’s not a bad thing, Mitch admits. He feels a bit lonely in his Toronto place, but he didn't want to stay at home while he’s still kind of mopey and sad. He really doesn't like it when his mom worries. Having Dyls and Davo around is going to do him some good, even if they don't come up with any plan.

 

Stromer arrives in a flurry of hugs, chirps and smiles. He looks good, tan from his staying in Arizona, fit and relaxed after the hard week. Mitch tosses his bag in the guestroom—him and Davo can figure out who’s gonna take the couch tomorrow—and then goes to the kitchen to prepare something to eat, i.e. heating up some leftovers.

 

“Davo wants to be here for the brainstorming meeting,” Stromer explains while Mitch is setting the table so they can eat in the kitchen.

 

“Do we have to?” Mitch whines, because he’s really not sold on the idea.

 

“I mean, we don't,” Stromer smirks, “but your life would be so much better if we did.”

 

Mitch doesn't say anything to that. To be honest, he’s not used to pursuing individuals. He doesn't want to sound conceit, but the fact of the matter is, he’s not bad looking. People have always come after him. He doesn't look like a raccoon, like someone whose last name rhymes with gnome. And he doesn't look like a horse on skates, like the new incarnation of Gretzky does. Girls often tell him he’s cute—whatever that means. The point is, it’s been enough for him to pull when he wanted.

 

“I don't know that I _want_ to do anything about the situation,” Mitch says after he puts on the table his mom’s delicious lasagna—fuck the diet—and takes a seat.

 

“You want to pine for the rest of your natural life?” Stromer asks, digging in like the barbarian he is.

 

“I am not pining,” Mitch objects.

 

“Marns, buddy,” Stromer says. He’s chewing on his lasagna, and Mitch has a front row view to the contents of his mouth.

 

“Stromer! Close your fucking mouth, for fuck’s sake.”

 

“Don't try to change topic,” Dylan waves his fork. “You are pining. You were crying on the phone like you’d been selected by the Canucks in the fifth round.”

 

Mitch chews on his food more slowly, reflecting on Dylan’s statement. He doesn't think he’s pining per se. Or at least, he hasn't been until he broke up with his ex-girlfriend. Rather, he’s been trying to figure himself out. He explains this to Stromer, who hums.

 

“Okay, fine, I take your point,” Stromer agrees. “I’m still not sure not doing anything is the way to go.”

 

“I am not sure telling Matts is the way to go either, Stromer.”

 

“Right, because not telling him has gotten you so far.”

 

“Put yourself in my place, Dyls,” Mitch says. “If I go to him with this, and he’s not interested, we still have to play together. It’s going to make things awkward.”

 

“Mitch,” Stromer says soothingly. “You guys are very good friends. Matts has gotten your back since you started playing together. He never came across like a complete asshole. Do you really think he’s going to be a dick just because you have a crush on him?”

 

“I don't know, Dyls,” Mitch says disconsolate. “That’s kind of the problem here.”

 

“I don't think you’ve got anything to worry about on that front,” Stromer reassures him. “Come on. He’s indulged you in all your crazy scheme and he always asks about you when he texts me.”

 

“He does?” Mitch says surprised. Him and Matts have been in touch since the season ended—how can they not, when they’re used to spend most of their time together? Still, it’s somewhat nice to know Matts is also asking about him to Mitch’s friends.

 

“Yep,” Stromer says chewing as obnoxiously as before. “Since I am here and he’s not, he likes to get reports. Mostly he wants to know if I managed to convince you to update your wardrobe.”

 

“Fuck off,” Mitch says. “I’m not getting style advice from someone who thinks ripped jeans are awesome and from an NSYNC wannabe.”

 

“You’re jealous,” Stromer grumbles.

 

“In your dreams,” Mitch replies.

 

They are quiet while they finish the lasagna, because, sometime, good food deserves silence.

 

Then Stromer says, “He’s your best friend on the team, Marns. Him and Matt Martin, right?”

 

Mitch nods.

 

“I think you can trust him to take care of your feeling. Worst case scenario, he’s either straight or not interested. You’re both old enough to work through the initial awkwardness and go back to how you were.”

 

“Maybe,” Mitch mumbles.

 

Stromer makes a pretty convincing argument, but Mitch is hesitant. He knows that assuming about people’s sexuality is a big no-no. And yet, he’s never gotten any gay or bi vibe from Auston, who sometimes comes across as aggressively straight. If he were to bet on his teammates’ sexual life, there are other people he’d think are more flexible than Matts is. Like Willy, for instance, who sometimes looks at men like he wants to feast on them.

 

“I’m not going to push you, Marns,” Stromer says after a while, a hand on Mitch’s shoulder. “But I still believe you should really think about this, okay? You saw what Matts said. He’s not dating anyone, just keeping things loose and fun.”

 

“That’s part of the problem, to tell you the truth,” Mitch confesses. At this point, he might as well go for broke with Stromer.

 

“What do you mean?” Stromer inquires.

 

“You know I don't do casual well, Dyls, come on.”

 

Stromer rolls his eyes. “You and Davo both. Jesus, Marns, we are like twenty years old. It’s a bit early to talk about long term commitment.”

 

“I was with the same person for more than two years. What does that tell you?” Mitch points out.

 

Stromer opens his mouth, but whatever he’s thinking of saying must not be a brilliant idea, because he stops.

 

“Okay, fine. But you’ve, like, never dated a dude, right?” he asks, a bit shyly. Stromer and shy are not exactly a winning combo.

 

“Nope,” Mitch confirms, cheeks burning in embarrassment.

 

“So you don't think you’d need some time to make sure this is right for you? I mean, it’s kinda of a big change,” Stromer asks.

 

“That’s what I have been thinking about for the past few months,” Mitch confesses a bit uncomfortable.

 

“I see,” Stromer says. Mitch actually thinks Stromer might indeed be able to see. Perceptive, that’s the guy’s middle name.

 

“Well,” he continues, “if you’re sure, then we’re back to the beginning. You’ve got to tell him.”

 

Mitch gets up, because if he doesn't he’s going to start fidgeting.

 

“I’ll think about it,” he says. It’s not like he hasn't been doing pretty much that for the past several months anyway.

 

Later that night, after Stromer has gone to bed—or to chat with Davo—Mitch gets into his own bed, finally with clean sheets, and he checks his messages. There’s a new one from Matts.

 

_Heard you've got visitors. Not tired of Stromer yet?_

_He invited himself and Davo over for a bit_ , Mitch responds with a smile.

 

Matts must have his phone handy, because he replies immediately.

 

_How very Stromer,_ he comments.

 

_I now, rite? Im gonna show him what u said so he sees its not just me._

_Please don't,_ Matts texts, _he’s vicious when he’s angry._

_Im not sure I wanna now how u found out_ , Mitch texts adding a few devil emoji.

 

_Werent u supposed to do stuff w/ ur girl, tho?_ Matts asks, and Mitch has an ‘oh shit’ moment, because he forgot he hasn't told Matts about the new development.

 

_We broke up_ , he settles on saying. It’s not a good idea to keep this a secret from Auston and Mitch doesn't want to. He’s not going to automatically assume he’s got anything to do with it.

 

It takes a bit longer for Matts to answer that. He’s probably trying to come up with a suitable way of comforting a bro from thousands of miles away.

 

_Im sorry, dude. You okay?_

_Yeah, thanks_ , Mitch answers. He’s not, of course he isn’t. But Matts is the last person he’s going to be able to tell that.

 

_U wanna talk?_ Matts offers.

 

Mitch goes back to what he was explaining to Dyls. Him and Matts are really not like that. They don't talk about girls, mostly because they have very different MOs. Mitch wants a serious relationship, and he had that with his ex. Matts likes to screw around, which he’s been doing for the entire season. Mitch doesn't think Matts has a problem with Mitch’s philosophy, and Mitch certainly doesn't have one with Matts’. Still, they’re two opposite ways to live one’s love life. It’s not surprising that neither of them chose the other as confidant.

_Not really_ , Mitch says. _That’s what Stromer’s for._

_U kill me, Marns,_ Auston replies, adding a broken heart and some other emoji to his text. _I thought I was your BFF._

Mitch snorts. _Of course not_ , he says jokingly. _Dyls has priority when it comes to this stuff._

 

_He being good?_ Matts asks.

 

_He’s being a pain in the ass_ , Mitch responds truthfully. _But that's normal, so its all good._

_Ok,_ Matts texts. _But if you need the opinion of a superior intellect, let me know. Ive years of practice._

_Oh,_ Mitch replies. _U moonlighting as a couple therapist???_

_U need 1?_

_Nope. Were done,_ Mitch says. Maybe he’ll talk to Matts, maybe he won’t He still doesn't want there to be any ambiguities as to the fact that he’s indeed single.

_Sux_ , Matts says.

 

_Yep_ , Mitch agrees.

 

Matts is quiet for a while, and Mitch gets ready for bed, assuming the convo is over. Then he gets another message.

 

_R u gonna be in town next wknd?_

Mitch frowns. _As far as I now. No plans. Why?_

_I was thinking on coming up for a bit. Ive got to take care of a couple of things and I’d rather some1 was around._

_Oh Matts,_ Mitch says, his heart beating like crazy. _U want me to keep u company?_

_Fuck off, Marns,_ is the quick reply.

 

Mitch sends him thirteen angel emoji.

 

_Ill be here. Not sure about Stromer and Davo. They’ll prbly be back home by then._

_Its fine,_ Matts says. _Ill fly in on Sunday or Monday. Pick me up?_

Like Mitch is humanly capable of saying no to Matts.

 

_Ill think about it_ , he says. He’s really not looking forward to telling all this to Stromer and Davo.

 

**V.**

 

Stromer and Davo stays for a few days, but, picking up on Mitch’s mood, Davo somehow must be able to convince Stromer to let the whole Russian—or, better, American—campaign—go, at least for now. Mitch doesn't immediately tell them about Matts’ imminent visit, because he doesn't want to re-invigorate Stromer into planning said campaign.

 

It’s good, to have them with him. Mitch hasn't spent a lot of time with the two of them since the draft, which was awesome but absolutely nerve-wrecking. Now there is much less pressure, although both Davo and Mitch are tense about Dylan having to go through prospect camp for the third year in a row.

 

The three of them don't do anything particularly original, but they enjoy their time together. They even go to a tailor to get new suits—Stromer making fun the whole time of Mitch’s color palette choices, like he has any room to talk.

 

It’s all good, and when Mitch finally gets around to telling them that Matts is coming up on Sunday, Stromer does nothing more that waggling his eyebrows. It earns him an elbow in his stomach from Davo, who makes him wheeze for five minutes while Davo is ridiculously apologetic. _Jesus,_ Mitch thinks.

 

“Are you gonna tell him?” Stromer asks once he’s recovered a bit.

 

“Dyls,” Davo warns him.

 

“Come on, Davo, aren’t you curious?” Stromer replies.

 

“I don't know,” Mitch intervenes before Davo accidentally injures Stromer in an attempt to defend Mitch’s right to privacy. He appreciates the sentiment but there is really no need. It turns out that he probably should have talked about this with Stromer sooner.

 

“I mean,” Davo says, “I get the whole thing. Don't let this one make you think you’ve got to do anything.”

 

“Trust me,” Mitch reassures him with a smile, “It’s been a while since Dylan was able to convince me to do idiotic things.”

 

“Bullshit,” Stromer laughs. “I am totally going to prove you wrong next time I have some brilliant idea.”

 

Davo shakes his head, fondly looking at Stromer, who winks back.

 

Mitch looks at them both and feels a burst of affection for these two young men he’s been lucky enough to become friends with. Sometimes, he wonders how he went from not really caring about them to loving them to bits. For all their flaws, and there are many—how can’t there not be—they’ve had Mitch’s back since Mitch became friends with Dylan and then, by extension, with Davo.

 

Mitch doesn't know if Davo ever figured out Mitch’s massive crush on Stromer—they never discussed it—but not even that stopped the three of them from being close. And neither of them ever told him what they _really_ think of each other, but Mitch can see the warmth they share because it shines like a beacon in the night. Much of it is certainly a result of having played together for two years—going through ups and downs together. The rest is some strange ingredient that makes them Dyls-and-Davo, and Mitch is not jealous—has never been jealous—because it’s special, and beautiful and _theirs_.

 

So it’s good to be with them, and, when they leave, Mitch is a little sad, even if he’s going to see them soon. But he’s also excited about Matts’ visit—or rather Matts coming to town, since Matts has his own apartment and everything, so it’s not like he’s staying at Mitch’s.

 

Matts’ flight comes in sufficiently late in the evening that Pearson is not very crowded. This means less hassle for both of them—but especially Auston—because signing autographs in an airport is never a fun business. People’s nerves are already frazzled by traveling; as a result nobody is really excited, the players to meet cool fans or the fans to meet their idols.

 

When Matts emerges from the terminal, Mitch’s heart speeds up a bit. Matts’s tall, tan and he’s been bulking up, having recovered the weight he lost at the end of the season and during their playoff round. Mitch beams at him, because he’s really happy to see him, despite all of his inner shit and confusion, and walks quickly towards him.

 

Matts is beaming back and when Mitch reaches him, he hugs him so tightly that he lifts Mitch up from the ground—four inches, fifty pounds; they do make a difference. Now, Mitch will go on the record to say that Marty is the best hugger, with Mo close second. Matts is not super-demonstrative unless they are on ice. But as far as hugs go, this is pretty good.

 

“Get me down, you jerk,” Mitch laughs, while squeezing his arms around Matts’ neck. Matts does let go, but laughs too and holds him for another second before dropping Mitch like a sack of potatoes.

 

“Jesus,” Mitch says, looking up and smiling happily. “You’re a fucking show-off, it’s what you are.”

 

“You’re jealous you can’t bench-press me,” Matts responds.

 

“Why would I be jealous of that? I got no use for that; I just need to be able to outskate you, which I do perfectly well without having to lift you. Is that all you got?” Mitch asks then, gesturing towards Matts’ bag.

 

“Yeah,” Matts nods. “I’ve got stuff at home and I can always buy more. Didn't want to deal with checking shit in.”

 

“Cool,” Mitch says. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”

 

They catch up on the latest news while they make their way to the parking lot and then out of the airport and onto the highway. Matts fills Mitch in on news about his family and his Arizona friends, as well as Chucky and Zach. Mitch tells him about Dyls’ and Davo’s visit and their new sartorial acquisitions. Their conversation flows easily.

 

Mitch is happy, even if he’s also somewhat sad. It’s kind of weird, to be honest, but it’s not like he can do anything about it. Matts is his friend, and Mitch likes him as a _friend._ But he’s also in love with him, and he broke up with his girlfriend, since he felt like he was cheating on her because of it. And that’s hard to deal with for Mitch.

 

During a lull in the conversation, Mitch turns towards Matts and sees him looking at his phone with a small smile on his face.

 

“Good news?” Mitch asks after turning his attention back to the road.

 

“Only time will tell,” Matts says with a laugh and Mitch knows that laugh and he knows that expression—or rather, he thinks he does. He’s seen it other times when Matts is on the prowl.

 

“Did you come up to Toronto to hook up?” he asks, a fake smile on his face. They don't talk about it, but this is too much for Mitch to resist, as painful as he imagines the answer is going to be.

 

“What?” Matts says surprised. “No, what? Why would you say that?”

 

“You’ve got your hooking up expression,” Mitch explains.

 

“I don't have a hooking up expression,” Matts defends himself. Then he says, “Do I?”

 

“Dude,” Mitch shakes his head. “You really do.”

 

“Oh,” Matts says, and he seems surprised. “Well,” he continues, “it’s not that, honest.”

 

“I mean,” Mitch adds, “it’s fine if you did, I don't care.” That’s a lie if Mitch ever told one, but whatever.

 

“Thanks, Marns,” Matts says, “but if I wanna hook up I don't need to get on a plane to do it.”

 

“Ouch,” Mitch replies. “Okay, fine, let’s change topic.”

 

“I mean,” Matts says and Mitch can hear the smirk a mile away, “we can talk about hooking up as much as you want, Marns. Especially now that you’re back in the game.”

 

“Thanks, but no thanks,” Mitch says quickly. This conversation has gotten out of hand really quickly and Mitch regrets beginning it.

 

“Still too early?” Matts asks gently.

 

Mitch shrugs. “It’s just not my scene, you know.”

 

Matts is looking at him, Mitch can tell, because he moves so he’s facing Mitch.

 

“What?” Mitch asks.

 

“What do you mean it’s not your scene?”

 

“Do we really need to talk about it?” Mitch whines, because this is eerily similar to the discussions he’s had with Stromer, for all that it’s different.

 

“No, of course not,” Matts backtracks. “Not if you don't want to.”

 

“We really don't talk about this stuff.”

 

Matts is thoughtful for a second. “You’re right. We can, though, if you want.”

 

“I mean,” Mitch begins, “it’s not that I don't want to. But, like, I spent several hours talking with Dyls about it so…”

 

“Ah,” Matts says. “You are talked out.”

 

“I am more like Dylaned out, to be honest.”

 

Matts bursts out laughing and Mitch joins him.

 

“I can see where you’re coming from,” Matts admits.

 

“Yeah,” Mitch smiles. “I love him like a brother, but he gets really intense, you know. Though he really just wants to help.”

 

“Got it,” Matts nods. “For the record, however, no, I’m not here to hook up; no, we don't have to talk about anything remotely involved with hooking up; but if you need a shoulder to cry on, mine is available.”

 

Mitch is really touched, as much as he’d like Matts’ shoulder for other, happier, activities. He sends Matts a thankful smile and continues driving.

 

“How long are you staying then?” he asks.

 

“Not sure, yet. I’ve got an open ticket. Who’s around?”

 

Mitch thinks about it. “Probably Hymie, unless he’s on vacation somewhere. I don't really know, though.”

 

“You’ve been hanging out by yourself?” Matts asks surprised.

 

Mitch can’t blame him. Everyone knows Mitch prefers to surround himself with people. It’s just that he doesn't want to have to explain about the break-up to everyone he knows, at least not in the immediate future.

 

“Dyls and Davo were just here, and I’ve seen my brother,” Mitch says defensive.

 

“Mmm,” Matts comments.

 

“What?” Mitch says.

 

“Do you want me to send a message to the guys, explaining what’s happened and telling them not to ask questions?”

 

That’s … oddly touching, is what it is, and Mitch’s eyes well up. He must also make some kind of weird noise because he can feel Matts’ eyes on him again.

 

“Marns?” Matts asks.

 

Mitch sniffles and makes a valiant effort not to start crying again, because he’s fucking driving, for fuck’s sake.

 

“Jesus, Marns. Are you okay?” Matts says worriedly.

 

Mitch takes a deep breath, exhales like the trainers have taught him, and then shakes his head.

 

“I’m fine, sorry.”

 

“Are you sure? Do you want me to drive?”

 

“You hate driving in Canada, Matts,” Mitch points out. “Plus I’m fine, really. You just took me by surprise. It’s really nice of you to offer, but I’ll tell them as soon as I figure myself out.”

 

“And you’re sure you don't wanna talk about it?” Matts asks. Mitch can tell he doesn't want to push it, but that he’s a bit more concerned than something like this would warrant. But then, since Mitch has developed this habit of crying at the drop of a hat, Matts has the right to be concerned.

 

“I’ve done nothing but talking about it with Stromer,” Mitch explains.

 

“I see,” Matts comments, and Mitch isn’t sure, but he detects something different in the tone of his voice.

 

“What?” is not Mitch’s turn to ask.

 

“Has he been good?” Matts inquires.

 

“At what? Giving advice?” Mitch snorts.

 

“I guess,” Matts says.

 

“Stromer is fine,” Mitch responds. “I mean, he’s been great, really. And Davo too. It’s just that there isn’t really much to do, you know. Break-ups suck, you just need to deal with them.”

 

Matts hums in agreement. “Well, let me know if I can help.”

 

“Will do, but hopefully I’m gonna stop being an emotional wreck soon.”

 

They reach Matts’ apartment complex shortly thereafter and Mitch drops Matts off with promises to talk tomorrow.

 

It doesn't dawn on him until he gets home that Matts hasn't told him with the hell he’s doing in Toronto in the middle of the summer.

 

**V.**

“You still haven’t told me why you’re here,” Mitch tells Matts the following day.

 

They decided to grab some lunch near the arena, so they are sitting at a diner they go to during the season with the guys. It’s one of those places in Toronto that’s used to catering to hometown athletes and therefore good at leaving them be and sheltering them from unwanted attention while they’re eating.

 

“I just fancied a change,” Matts says before taking a bite of his chicken dish.

 

Mitch’s eyebrows rise. “You _fancied_ a change?”

 

Matts’ cheeks pink slightly—it’s not easy to see with the tan, but they are close enough that Mitch can tell.

 

“Yeah. I just wanted to get away for a bit, you know.”

 

“I mean, I get it,” Mitch says, “but you come to Toronto of all places. Not that I’m not thrilled to have you here, but the world is your oyster.”

 

Matts’ gaze fixates on something over Mitch’s left shoulder for a bit.

 

“Yeah, I know,” Matts eventually says. “It’s just that I wanted something familiar, but I didn't want to be at home?” It comes out as a question and Mitch gets worried.

 

“Is everything okay with your family?” he asks, because he might be heartbroken and discovering himself, but he’s not a shitty friend.

 

“Yeah, yeah,” Matts says quickly. “They’re all doing great. It was just weird.”

 

“Weird how?” Mitch asks.

 

“Well,” Matts begins. Mitch can see he’s struggling to find the words to explain.

 

“It’s mostly like I never left, and then, all of a sudden, I feel like I don't belong there anymore.”

 

Mitch ponders that for a bit, taking a sip of water to buy time.

 

“I think I understand what you’re saying, but kind of in theory?” he says. “I mean, I’ve always lived and played in this area, so my situation is different from yours.”

 

“That makes sense,” Matts agrees. “It’s just, like, sometimes I’ve the impression everything has stayed the same at home and I’ve moved on, like, a thousand miles.”

 

“That’s probably true, though, right?” Mitch says.

 

“I guess,” Matts says, but he doesn't seem convinced.

 

“Have you talked to Zach or Chucky?” Mitch then asks, since he knows those two are Matts’ closest buddies from the USNTDP.

 

Matts shakes his head, though.

 

“Why?” Mitch asks.

 

“I don't wanna seem ungrateful,” Matts says with a sigh.

 

“Dude,” Mitch says. “They’re your friends, and they can relate better than I can. I mean, Chucky is American and, like you, he’s playing on a Canadian team.”

 

Matts is silent, which is not surprising, and Mitch lets him stew on it. He never got the impression Werenski and Tkachuk were anything but good guys, so he really doesn't understand what the problem is. It must go back to the fact that, as much as he is a goofball who likes to joke and let loose, Matts takes his responsibilities to hockey and to Toronto as seriously as a heart attack. Mitch knows Matts doesn't like to complain about things he thinks he should be thankful for, or whatever. He has seen the same behavior with Davo, when he was selected first overall—hurray!—by the Edmonton Oilers—not so hurray. Mitch is perfectly aware of the fact that he won the fucking lotto among the people of his draft year.

 

“You’re right,” Matts finally says. “I’ll talk to them.”

 

“I mean, you can talk to me, too,” Mitch reassures him, because they do talk about this type of problems. “I’m just not sure I’d understand as well as they can.”

 

“No, it’s a good point,” Matts smiles, resuming eating. “Sometimes I just get so far in my head I can’t find the way out.”

 

“You think?” Mitch deadpans, because it’s not like he’s met Matts yesterday.

 

“Fuck off,” Matts says.

 

“Anyways,” Mitch says, and here he’s talking against his best interests and he’s a sucker for punishment, so sue him. “I’m around, so if you want to hang just let me know.”

 

“Absolutely,” Matts promises. “I am not interested in getting back on a plane immediately, so I’ll be here for a few days for sure.”

 

Mitch smiles and then proceeds to tell him stories he’s heard about Willy’s summer that Matts has still not been updated on, because Willy has the coolest adventures—Mitch doesn't know if it’s because it’s Willy or it’s because the world, when Willy is around, becomes exponentially more chaotic. Must be a combination of the two.

 

Later that night, Mitch gets a message from Stromer.

 

_Hows it going with loverboy?_

_Fine. Hes here to chill for a bit._

_???_ Stromer texts back. Mitch doesn't want to spill Matts’ secrets or whatever, so he just says.

 

_Needed some time off, I guess. I must be pretty intense down there?_

_And it’s not up here?_ Stromer comments.

 

_I dunno, dude. I just work here._

_W/e,_ Stromer sends. _You guys wanna come over?_

_Im in as long as you don't do something stupid_ , Mitch says. _Ill have to ask Matts._

_Me? Something stupid? Im the soul of discretion._

 

Mitch wonders where the hell Stromer picks this shit up.

 

_Stromer…_

_Fine, fine. I promise. Plus Davo’d kill me if I embarrass you._

_Good,_ Mitch writes back. _Send me the deets. Ill come but dont now about Matts. Will let u now, tho._

_Cool._

 

Mitch texts Matts, who’s apparently excited about the idea, even if Mitch doesn't have any concrete plans to offer him, because Stromer was vague.

 

_Sorry about lack of specifics_ , Mitch texts.

 

_Np_ , Matts texts back.

_You doing better?_

_Yeah,_ Matts writes back. _Talked to Chucky. It helped._

_Cool,_ Mitch says, adding three fire emoji.

 

Mitch informs Dylan, who tells him to come over for the weekend for an impromptu street-hockey tourney. Matts seems excited when Mitch tells him the following day, since he’s heard a lot about it from Mitch during the year.

 

Later on that day, Mitch decides to text Marty to let him know about the whole situation with the break-up. Marty, of course, calls him immediately.

 

“Dude,” Mitch says, touched, “you didn't need to call.”

 

“Are you kidding?” Marty says. “You’re, like, my experiment in parenting. I’ve got to get this shit right.”

 

Mitch rolls his eyes. “Thanks,” he comments.

 

“What happened?” Marty asks.

 

Mitch wasn't really sure about what he was going to tell Marty before he started talking to him. Now that his friend is on the line, however, it’s easy for Mitch to spill the beans. He tells Marty everything about the inner turmoil he’s been experiencing for the past several months and how that affected his feelings for his ex. The only thing he keeps quiet about is the identity of the person who’s caused Mitch to revisit much of his life choices.

 

Marty, however, is not a fool—never has been. Whoever said enforcers are obtuse hasn't met any enforcer, as far as Mitch is concerned.

 

“It’s Matts, isn’t it?” he says without an inch of a doubt.

 

“Wow,” Mitch says, and that’s about it, because he’s, quite frankly, speechless.

 

“I know,” Marty says, a clear smirk in his voice, “I am _that_ good.”

 

“Jesus Christ,” Mitch says.

 

“Matt Martin,” he replies, because he has been spending way too much time with the rookies, and he’s now ten instead of almost thirty.

 

“Have you told him?” Marty then asks.

 

“Fucking hell,” Mitch bursts out. “Have you been talking to Stromer?”

 

“Should I? I don't think I have his number, but if you want to give it to me…”

 

“Absolutely not,” Mitch says. “The last thing I need is for the two of you to talk to each other about this.”

 

“I take it you haven’t told Matts then,” Marty concludes.

 

“Nope,” Mitch says popping the _p_ to make his point clearer.

 

“Don't blame you,” Marty says. “I don't think he would have any issues, but he’s hard to read.”

 

“Right,” Mitch concurs.

 

“How’re you holding up, though?” Marty asks.

 

“I mean, I haven’t burst in tears,” Mitch admits, “so I count that as a win.”

 

“Mitchy,” Marty says, and Mitch can tell he’s worried, exactly like Stromer was.

 

“It’s fine, really,” Mitch says. “I know it’s a shitty thing to say, but since the break-up I’ve felt better.”

 

“No,” Marty replies. “I mean, you feel what you feel, and it’s not shitty. It’s just what it is, Mitchy. Don't give yourself a hard time.”

 

“It still sucks,” Mitch says.

 

“Of course,” Marty agrees.

 

They chat a bit more, catching up on things that are not Mitch’s personal life. By the time he hangs up, Mitch feels much better about life. He was really dreading telling Marty, because they’ve hang out together with their girlfriends often. So, all in all, things have turned out just fine.

 

That night, Matts sends him a Snap of him wearing what looks like another one of his ridiculous graphic t-shirts.

 

_If youre asking me what I think, then I’d suggest the trash can_ , Mitch responds.

 

He gets a finger for his efforts and sends out some avocado emoji.

 

_You home?_ Matts asks.

 

_Yep. Just hanging by my lonesome self._

 

_Want company?_

Mitch hesitates. They’re going to be spending a lot of time together soon and, as much as things are improving, Mitch is not a masochist; he’d rather limit the amount of time he spends with Matts by himself. Still, he has not real excuses, and _it’s Matts._

_For sure_ , he sends back. _Come over whenever. Or do you want me to drive?_

_No, I’m already out. Ill be at urs in 30._

Mitch looks around to check if his apartment is suitable for guests, and decides that he doesn't need to do much. He picks up some random shit he’s left out and then goes to change out of his ‘I’m-not-getting-dressed-today’ top and sweats and into a clear t-shirt and shorts that doesn't scream ‘I’m-a-lazy-ass’.

 

Realizing that his dirty clothes far outweigh his clean ones, Mitch resigns himself to do a load of laundry, like the responsible adult he often pretends to be.

 

Matts arrives not long after that, hugs Mitch and passes him two containers of ice cream and a six-pack.

 

“Thanks, dude,” Mitch says with a smile. “You are the best.”

 

“Cure for a broken heart, right?” Matts jokes.

 

“You don't even know,” Mitch says. “That’s what I did when I broke it off with my ex.”

 

“Oh,” Matts says, puzzled.

 

Mitch grabs some spoons and cups from the kitchen and then leads Matts to the living room. Matts sits on the couch and Mitch thinks ‘fuck it,’ and takes the seat next to him.

 

“What?” Mitch asks, while distributing equal amounts of ice cream between the two of them—so not on the diet plan, but it’s not like they’re not going to burn this shit out.

 

“Nothing,” Matts says quickly, which Mitch can see a mile away is a lie.

 

“Come on, Matty. What’s the problem?”

 

“I just thought your girl had done the breaking up,” Matts confesses.

 

“Oh,” Mitch says. “Right, I guess I didn't explain about that.”

 

“I mean, it doesn't matter—a break-up is a break-up, you know,” Matts adds.

 

“No, no, I get what you’re saying. But yeah, I broke it off.”

 

Matts is staring at Mitch with his dark eyes, about which young girls apparently write sonnets, because what the fuck. Not that Mitch blames them, when thinking it over. He seems sad, which Mitch doesn't quite get.

 

“You sure you don't wanna talk?”

 

“I spoke to Marty earlier, which I was really dreading,” Mitch explains.

 

“Why?”

 

“It’s Marty, you know,” Mitch tries to explain.

 

“Dude,” Matts says, “the guy loves you.”

 

“I know, I know. He was chill. Still, you never know.”

 

Matts goes really quiet then, and Mitch can tell that there’s something bothering him. He’s staring at Mitch, which is unsettling in a good way, but Mitch is worried Matts is mad.

 

“Matty?” he asks tentatively.

 

“I just don't get why you don't want to tell me these things,” Matts says, visibly upset.

 

Mitch’s eyes widen at the vehemence with which Matts is speaking. He’s not usually so forceful.

 

“I mean,” Mitch blabbers, but Matts interrupts him.

 

“I just don't. I get it you are friends with Stromer and Davo, and I get that you’re close with Marty too, but I don't understand why I can’t know. Sure, we don't talk about girls and that kind of stuff, but we can.”

 

Mitch continues to stare at Matts, because this is a weird thing to get upset about.

 

“It’s not like you are baring your soul at the first opportunity,” he counters, trying not to feel wounded. To be fair, he’d rather not hear about Matts’ love life if it doesn't involve him.

 

“We’re not talking about me, we’re talking about you,” Matts says.

 

“Well, since you’re complaining I don't tell you things …”

 

“There is nothing to tell, Mitchy,” Matts says resolutely. Too resolutely.

 

Mitch’s eyes narrow and he says sharply, “You’re lying.”

 

“Mitchy,” Matts sends him a withering look. “You’re missing the point.”

 

“You’re too. And we’re talking in circles.”

 

Matts scrubs his face with his hand and picks up his ice cream, ostensibly to do something with his hands that doesn't involve strangling Mitch—or so Mitch supposes. Mitch opts for alcohol instead of sugar.

 

“I don't wanna fight, Matts,” Mitch says once the silence that has descended between them starts to feel oppressive.

 

“I’m not mad, Mitchy,” Matts says gently. “I’m hurt.”

 

“Because I didn't tell you about my break-up?” Mitch asks surprised.

 

“Because I thought we were best friends and this is important to you and you don't want me to know.”

 

“Matts,” Mitch sighs. “Auston. I didn't mean to make you feel like that, I promise.”

 

“I know, I know. I’m behaving like a jerk.” Matts says apologetically, a faint blush coloring his cheeks.

 

“I’m too,” Mitch admits. “And you’re my best friend on the team,” he adds.

 

A flash of something Mitch cannot identify passes through Matts’ eyes. He smiles his shy smile, the one he reserves for people whom he’s close to, the one that, when Mitch first saw it, he thought ‘This guy is going to be the end of me’.

 

“Look,” Matts then says. “I know we got into the habit of talking about everything _but_ girls. I don't know why that happens. I’m not in over-sharing to begin with …”

 

“But Hymie knows a lot,” Mitch objects because he’s a _fucking_ moron.

 

“I room with him on the road,” Matts says.

 

“You’re right, sorry,” Mitch says. He really doesn't understand himself. He doesn't want to know because he gets jealous; then he wants to know, because it’s better than not knowing. What the fuck?

 

“And,” Matts continues, “you had your whole thing with Marty and it’s not like we don't have stuff in common, you know.”

 

“Yeah,” Mitch agrees.

 

“It’s just that, for this, I wanted to be here for you,” Matts concludes.

 

Mitch’s all posture softens at that and his eyes well up _again._

“Oh shit,” Matts says, suddenly scared. “I’m sorry,” he says quickly, dropping the cup on the table and hugging Mitch sideways.

 

“No, no,” Mitch says, letting go of his beer so Matts can hug him without spilling it all over them and the couch. “It’s fine. I am just an emotional wreck these days.”

 

“Jesus Christ, Mitchy,” Matts says while rubbing his hand on Mitch’s back. Mitch’s face is pressed in Matts’ shoulder, which he’s using to cry on, as Matts had offered—because Mitch’s life is a cosmic joke.

 

“Are you sure you want to stay broken up with her?” Matts asks softly. He is trying not to spook Mitch.

 

“I’m not in love with her,” Mitch confesses in Matts’ shirt.

 

“Oh,” Matts says, and that kind of sums it up.

 

“Yeah,” Mitch sniffles.

 

Matts continues to rub Mitch’s back soothingly and Mitch calms down bit by bit.

 

“What can I do?” Matts asks after a while.

 

“You’re doing it,” Mitch confesses, snuggling into Matts. If this is all he can have, he’s going to take advantage of it for as long as he can and he is not going to worry about tomorrow—isn’t that on some inspirational card his mom has hanging around? Great advice.

 

Matts squeezes him and drops a quick kiss on Mitch’s hair, which makes Mitch insides to go all mushy.

 

They stay like that for a while, Mitch trying to get this storm he’s got going under control. Matts is a rock. He continues to hold Mitch while Mitch cries, not saying anything but just humming reassuringly here and there.

 

“What about you?” Mitch says eventually.

 

Matts doesn't answer immediately, but Mitch can tell from the proximity they’re sharing that it’s not because of lack of want. Rather, he’s trying to gather his thoughts.

 

“I’ve the opposite problem,” Matts confesses.

 

“You’re in love with my ex?” Mitch jokes, trying to lighten the mood. Things weren’t so intense when Mitch talked about it with Stromer.

 

“No, you jerk,” Matts huffs. He doesn't let go of Mitch, however.

 

“Okay,” Mitch says, raising his face and sending Matts a smile.

 

Matts huffs again, but the smile in his eyes betrays the fact that he’s amused by Mitch’s antics.

 

“What I meant is that I actually fell in love,” Matts explains. Mitch feels a lump in his throat, but continues to smile.

 

“That’s not a bad thing, Matty,” he says encouragingly.

 

“I know,” Matts admits, tugging Mitch at his side. “It’s just a bit disorienting.”

 

“Is it why you came up here?” Mitch asks.

 

“Partly. I really did need to get out of Scottsdale.”

 

“Mmm,” Mitch says. “So, what are you gonna do about it?” Mitch asks.

 

“I don't know,” Matts confesses. “Do you have any suggestion?”

 

“Well,” Mitch says. “I’ve been told that telling them is the way to go?”

 

Matts pulls back and looks Mitch in the eyes.

 

“I thought you’d fallen out of love,” he says.

 

Mitch diverts his gaze, embarrassed. Then he resolves to tell the truth, or as much of the truth as possible.

 

“Kind of fallen into love at the same time,” he mumbles.

 

“And the advice you got is to tell her?” Matts asks.

 

“Him,” Mitch murmurs, and then, more strongly, “to tell him.”

 

Matts tenses for a moment, but then relaxes and squeezes Mitch, bringing him back into his arms.

 

“And did you?” Matts asks.

 

“Not yet,” Mitch confesses. “Anyway, that’s what Stromer and Marty think.”

 

“Mmm,” Matts says, his head leaning on Mitch’s. “What about Davo?”

 

Mitch pulls back, this time, and looks Matts in the eyes. “Davo?”

 

“Yep,” Matts confirms. “Sorry, but I trust him more than Marty and Stromer on these things.”

 

“I guess,” Mitch wrinkles his nose. “He was mostly trying to get Stromer to leave me alone. But you know how he is; honesty and integrity.”

 

“Right,” Matts agrees.

 

“So there. Tell her. Him. Them. Whoever,” Mitch says, since he doesn't want to assume. Matts is clearly fine with Mitch’s bisexuality, so who knows who has caught his eyes.

 

“Him,” Matts informs Mitch.

 

“Oh,” Mitch says, eloquently. “That’s new.” It’s easier to talk about this when he’s not looking Matts in the eyes.

 

“For you, too,” Matts comments.

 

“Not really,” Mitch explains. “I mean, not like this, but it’s not the first time I like a guy.”

 

“Yeah,” Matts says, “for me also.”

 

They are still cuddled together, and Mitch would be perfectly happy to spend the rest of the off-season like this. Yet, he’s getting the feeling this is going somewhere good, so he pulls back, while still ensuring some parts of them touch, because that helps.

 

“We’ve both been keeping secrets,” Mitch observes, once again looking at Matts closely.

 

“Seems like it,” Matts smiles sheepishly. Then, because he’s clearly not stupid, he lifts the hand he had laying on Mitch’s shoulder and touches Mitch’s lips gently.

 

Mitch’s breath hitches and his lips part automatically. Matts’ eyes move from Mitch’s, fixating on Mitch’s mouth. A faint blush colors his cheeks and forehead, and his smile widens.

 

Mitch rolls his eyes, because they’re still Marns-and-Matts, although it looks like they might also be Mitch-and-Auston, and he leans to take the kiss that’s clearly his.

 

Matts tilts his head to the right, giving Mitch the perfect angle. Their lips brush softly at first, while they explore each other tentatively. Auston tastes like the vanilla ice cream he was just eating, but there is something behind it, something Mitch hopes he’s going to become familiar very quickly.

 

Eventually, Matts grabs Mitch’s head with both his hands and positions him in a way that seems to satisfy him. This leaves Mitch free to enjoy the onslaught of Matts’ tongue on his, of Matts’ mouth on his. It also frees Mitch’s hands so that he can explore the expanses of Matts’ body—seemingly his for the taking, if he wants to. Mitch wants to, very much so.

 

After a long while, or so it seems, Mitch pulls back, because he still needs to breathe, unfortunately. Matts doesn't let go, still holding Mitch’s face in his hands, looking at him with wonder.

 

“I guess Stromer does have a point after all,” Auston says.

 

“Let’s not tell him,” Mitch suggests. “He’s going to be so smug otherwise.”

 

Auston snickers. “Do you think you’re going to be able to keep this from him?” he asks. He knows Mitch too well.

 

“I mean,” Mitch says, “I can try.”

 

“Right,” Matts laughs, dropping a kiss on Mitch’s temple.

 

“I can too,” Mitch says indignantly.

 

“He’s your best friend,” Matts points out. “And I wanna tell Chucky.”

 

“He knows?” Mitch asks, surprised.

 

Matts nods. “You weren’t the only one who needed to talk to someone about this. And I didn't want to involve the team.”

 

“Yeah,” Mitch acknowledges, “though Marty knows. He got it out of me today.”

 

“It’s fine, Mitchy,” Matts says. “Now I don't care who knows. I just didn't want to make things awkward if this went pear-shaped.”

 

Mitch leans in again, kissing Matts deeply, because he can, and nothing went pear-shaped. Auston opens up immediately, this time, and they’re already finding a rhythm between the two of them. Deciding that it’s not enough, Mitch pulls back and then straddles Auston’s lap.

 

“Oof,” Auston says, breathing in Mitch’s mouth. He gets back on with the program immediately, however, leaving Mitch to run his hands through Auston’s slightly longish hair.

 

Auston grabs Mitch’s ass and pulls him closer, and Mitch enjoys the sensation of finally having all those muscles and power surrounding him. He’s never been the larger person in a relationship, but he finds that he likes it.

 

Auston pulls back, looks at Mitch intently and says, “Just so we’re clear, I’m in love with you.”

 

Mitch doesn't cry this time, but it’s a close call.

 

“I love you, too,” he answers, because Auston deserves to know. “I love you so much, Auston.”

 

Auston smiles dazzlingly and then resumes kissing Mitch.

 

The last coherent thought Mitch has is _Fuck, Stromer is going to be unbearable._

 

**VI.**

Mitch’s head is leaning on Davo’s shoulder, a beer in his hand. Stromer and Mikey McLeod are still shooting balls into the net, while Auston is talking to Ryan and Matty Strome. The rest of the guys are goofing around, eating and drinking.

 

It has been a good day. Mitch’s team—Davo’s team, really—won, which is always nice, and everyone who hadn’t met him yet likes Auston. Auston, too, seems to like everyone, although for most of the day he stuck to Davo, whom he knows from Team North America and the All Stars. He takes a while to warm up to new people, even with hockey to talk about.

 

Looking at the picture before him, Mitch cannot contain a contented smile.

 

“Happy?” Davo asks him, passing an arm around Mitch’s shoulder.

 

“Very,” Mitch smiles up to Davo. He hasn't been able to keep it from Stromer and Davo, who can ready him like a book anyway. Matts is fine to tell whomever, so that’s a hurdle that’s behind them—indeed, he’s told Chucky already. Mitch wants to keep it on the down-low for now, though. In part, it’s out of respect for his ex. He knows the truth, and so does she—that things hadn’t been working for a while. But they had look perfectly fine on the outside; as such, Mitch doesn't wish to explain to people how he didn't exactly jump from one relationship to another by breaking up with his ex and starting to date Auston Matthews in the span of two weeks.

 

“Good,” Davo says satisfied. “You deserve it.”

 

“You too,” Mitch comments.

 

Davo smiles delighted. “Oh, I’m happy as well, Mitchy,” he says.

 

“Good,” Mitch echoes, and they start giggling.

 

This attracts Stromer’s attention, who leaves Mikey to collect balls and joins them, all sweaty and stinking to high heavens.

 

“You need a shower,” Mitch tells him, although he lets Stromer hug him.

 

“We all do,” Stromer points out.

 

“And that’s the truth,” Davo agrees, passing Stromer his beer so he can take a sip.

 

“So, you know how you made me promise not to behave like a smug asshole?” Stromer begins wagging his eyebrows.

 

“Stromer,” Davo warns him, though without any heat.

 

“Already breaking your promise?” Mitch challenges him.

 

“I mean, it’s been really hard for me to contain myself…” Stromer says.

 

“Do try,” Mitch deadpans.

 

“I’m doing my best. Still, I’d like to stress that when I’m right, I’m right.”

 

Mitch huffs and wrinkles his nose.

 

“Fine,” Mitch concedes. “You were right. Can we move on with the rest of our lives, now?”

 

“If we must,” Stromer says.

 

“Misquoting the _Princess Bride,_ Stromer?” Auston asks popping out of nowhere behind Dylan.

 

“Dude, it’s the most awesome movie ever,” Stromer claims.

 

“It is,” Matts agrees, smiling at Mitch, who smiles back.

 

“Don't do that,” Davo warns Auston. “If you give him enough rope, you’re going to be dragged into a movie marathon of all the most awesome movies ever, Dylan Strome’s edition.”

 

“Shut up, Davo,” Stromer says before turning his full attention towards Auston. “You, me and the best movies ever. These losers can stay at home.”

 

“I didn't say anything,” Mitch defends himself.

 

“You thought it,” Stromer surmises correctly.

 

Auston looks at Mitch somewhat terrified, but Mitch reassures him.

 

“You’re going to have fun. Stromer is a pretty good movie-watching companion,” he says. Davo nods, which seems to move Dylan somehow.

 

“Okay, if you keep being nice, you two might be invited as well.”

 

“I’m always nice,” Davo claims, dragging Stromer away while at the same time listing the number of times he’s been nice to Dylan only in the last week.

 

_Those two,_ Mitch thinks fondly shaking his head.

 

“They’re really weird,” Auston comments, passing his arm around Mitch’s shoulder.

 

“You don't know the half of it,” Mitch confirms.

 

“I guess I don't. Should I ask Eichs?”

 

“He doesn't know the half of it either,” Mitch smirks. “But don't worry. One evening in their company watching movies will cure you of any wish to know more than you already do.”

 

“That’s McJesus out there,” Auston observes, because at times he’s a bit dense.

 

“Nope,” Mitch says. “That’s Davo. McJesus is for hockey and the media.”

 

Auston looks at Mitch and says wonderingly, “You are a genius.”

 

Mitch blushes, but smiles brightly. “Well, thank you, kind sir.”

 

Auston laughs. “In the mood for the _Princess Bride_ as well, I see.”

 

“It is a good movie,” Mitch says.

 

“The best,” Auston agrees.

 

“Come on, losers,” Stromer calls them from the backyard. “Ryan is starting the grill.”

 

Mitch takes Auston’s hand and together they make their way towards more food and good company. It’s a Saturday, and Mitch’s heart is full of light.


End file.
